a group of guys--well-dressed, white-collar-types (probably oil and gas folk, engineers of some kind... science geeks)--are having dinner and drinks after work.
two servers, one female and one male.
the setting: bar louie; booth near the bar, not far from the bathrooms. prime real estate, really.
the plot: the single chick spots a handsome lad seated at the table between their booth and the bar. she debates with her married friend whether she should make an attempt to get his attention.
the conflict: the single chick has no game whatsoever. she is generally outspoken and boisterous, but she clams up when her interest in a man is piqued.
the resolution: after consulting her friend, their server (female) and a second server (male), the single chick with no game writes the following note on one of the server's notepads, used for taking orders:
i need someone to go see star wars with me.
that could be you.
(the chick in the baseball cap)
the single chick instructs their server to give the man whose piqued her interest the note after the two women have vacated the premises because she is, upon occasion, a fearful, pathetic wench who has no game.
a female bartender with mad skills and much game (mentioned in this post)
two guys, seated to the single chick's left.
the setting: pappadeaux seafood kitchen; the bar, near the to-go stand and the service bar.
the plot: the single chick is working on her manuscript. on this particular day, she has not brought her laptop with her. she has printed two copies of her manuscript, one on yellow paper and one on blue. the yellow copy has edits a friend has made. the girl is marking the blue copy with the edits she has chosen to accept.
the conflict: the bartender with the mad skills pours a schooner of beer. while waiting for the foam to settle, she prepares other drinks her guests have requested. when she goes to top off the schooner, she accidentally knocks it over and spills the beer all over the girl's manuscript, the girl and the guy seated next to her.
the resolution: the single chick manages to keep her cool; the bartender and she laugh it off. the guy bitches endlessly about how his three-hundred-fifty dollar shirt (which is ugly as fuck, by the way) is soaked. he later spills cocktail sauce on it and bitches some more.
the bartender comps his order of oysters.
the single chick goes to facebook and posts that she is seated next to the most pompous, bitchiest douchebag in existence, says she has a present for the bartender and shows her the text, which has the bartender smiling again.
*number changed to protect yours truly